


Common Wind

by pocketmouse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-25
Updated: 2007-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>And so, compliant to the common wind,<br/>  Too strange to each other for misunderstanding,<br/>In concord at this intersection time<br/>     Of meeting nowhere, no before and after,<br/>     We trod the pavement in a dead patrol.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to aukestrel for the beta.

The first time Fraser saw Ray, he had a heart attack. Well, perhaps not nearly, but it certainly felt like it. Fraser was sure that his heart had stopped for several moments. When he looked around again, Ray was gone. Fraser resolved to look more carefully at the ingredients he put in his pemmican, but otherwise tried to dismiss it.

The second time Fraser saw Ray, he was sitting on the sled -- slouching on the sled, really -- squinting out against the setting sun, the colors of the sunset giving him a radiant aura. Fraser immediately spun on one foot and headed back inside the detachment. Through a shaky connection and with shakier fingers, he managed to call the Chicago PD, where he was informed that there was no such person as Ray Kowalski working for that district, and there never had been. This left him breathless and even more doubtful of his sanity. But he glanced around, and no one was there. His fingers itched to make a thorough search of all the closets and cupboards in the building, but instead he forced them back to the telephone, this time asking for Lieutenant Welsh.

The third time Fraser saw Ray, he was sitting on the small sofa Fraser had bought as an indulgence -- while not quite the same shape or fabric, it was the same color as the rich red of Ray's own couch, upon which he had spent many a warm hour, unwilling to leave, but unwilling to presume further. Ray was picking at the label of a half-empty beer bottle. This didn't surprise Fraser -- he hadn't had any beer, but he hadn't had Ray, either.

"Hello, Ray," Fraser said quietly, casually taking off his parka and hanging it on its peg by the door. He removed his boots next.

Ray nodded and smiled at him, but he didn't say anything.

Slowly Fraser crossed the room, sinking to his knees before Ray's visage. He didn't dare try and touch him, for fear he'd disappear into thin air. But Ray set aside his beer and grasped Fraser's hands, letting them lie there in his lap. Fraser couldn't breathe for a second, but he couldn't squeeze hard enough, and Ray's own grip felt unbreakable. "Ray," he managed at last, almost a gasp. "Why -- why did you go?" He might have been asking why Ray went back undercover, but what he was really asking, deep inside, almost where he couldn't hear it himself, was _Why didn't you stay?_

But Ray didn't say anything, he just smiled sadly, staring into Fraser's eyes, not letting go of his hands.

 

***

 

Over the next few weeks Ray appeared frequently, if a bit sporadically. He might appear regularly for several days, and then be gone for nearly as long.

The first time it happened, Fraser was almost as frantic as when Ray had first appeared, and he thought about calling Chicago again, but Welsh had made it clear that he knew no more about Ray's situation than Fraser did, and had promised to call if that changed.

But then Ray would come back -- Fraser would return from duty at the detachment and Ray would be waiting in the kitchen, or he would go out to shoot something for dinner, and Ray would be outside, his lean form dark against the soft, rich snow. Sometimes he looked healthy and vibrant, eyes glowing with determination, and other times he looked tired, as if being here was a strain. But he never spoke a word.

They managed to communicate well enough, over the basic things: 'Are you all right, Ray,' and 'Well, if you don't want me to listen to Vivaldi, do you have any other suggestions?' Because it seemed that Ray, being a figment of Fraser's imagination, could see or hear anything else Fraser imagined.

And Ray was definitely a figment of Fraser's imagination. No one else could see him -- not Diefenbaker, not even Maggie when she came to visit for a few days in early September. In fact, Ray had disappeared halfway through her visit.

So Fraser wasn't really sure how to reconcile this new figment of his imagination. He supposed -- and it was entirely supposition, as he couldn't drag anything out of Ray that had to do with whatever case he was on -- that Ray's mission was something dangerous, and he had had to lock this part of himself away, killing it off, so to speak. Fraser fervently hoped this wasn't true. But Fraser began to take Ray's dumbness as a sign that he was not truly dead yet -- for the dead could speak, even if they could not breathe -- and he began to dread that one day he would hear the sound of Ray's voice.

But he said none of this to Ray, who seemed content to be near Fraser, following him out on patrol once or twice, full of the same nervous energy as always, and still complaining bitterly about the cold. His presence was welcome, and Fraser tried to put his fears aside, if only to keep Ray from discovering them. His ability to read Fraser, deeper than the 'real' Ray ever could, was a bit unnerving, not to say awkward at certain times of the night.

This might have all been tolerable -- being accompanied by a deaf half-wolf and an imaginary Chicago detective with experimental hair and no voice -- in fact, it might even have been livable -- Constable Bennet _had_ commented on his recent turn of good humor -- except for one small incident, which came just over three weeks after Ray first appeared outside Fraser's cabin, looking worn and ridiculous in a t-shirt and jeans. Ray's appearances had been rather interrupted of late: he would leave without warning and seemed more wan and reticent than usual when he was around.

Ray had been gone for a good amount of time, and Fraser was just beginning to think it would be several days before he would see Ray again, when there was a dull thud and the cushions next to him on the couch shifted. Ray was sagging back against the couch, his eyes wide, looking slightly shell-shocked. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his mouth was partially open.

"Ray?" Fraser turned toward him, reaching for Ray's shoulder.

In almost a blur, Ray grabbed Fraser's hand. His eyes were tinged with desperation and something else Fraser couldn't identify. His other hand reached up to cup Fraser's jaw, and he leaned forward intently.

Fraser felt almost dizzy with need, but he managed to pull back slightly, placing a warning hand on Ray's chest.

"No." Ray's breath was warm, blowing against his cheeks. "No, we can't." Fraser moved his hand up, thumb rubbing gently over Ray's lips, a placation, a promise. Ray's tongue flicked out quickly to wet his skin. Fraser had to close his eyes. He licked his own lips before continuing. "We can't do this. Not until you're really -- real. Until you're alive again, and here with me."

When Fraser opened his eyes, Ray was gone again. But he could still feel him, warm against his fingers.

 

***

 

Time passed slowly over the next two weeks, and Fraser felt Ray's presence more than he saw it. He began to despair, and his change in temperament was remarked on by those around him. This was sometimes the only thing that kept him from believing he had imagined the whole thing. His hands itched to call Chicago, but he had made a promise, and he had kept that promise for over a month. Now was not the time to break down. Calling the police because your imaginary partner had disappeared was not advisable behavior.

 

***

 

The next time Fraser saw Ray, it was with a joyous shout, as the door to his cabin slammed open and Ray stood on the porch, in a parka two sizes too big, three cable-knit sweaters, two pairs of ski pants, and a Chicago Bulls knit cap. His breath frosted in the air, and his cheeks were tinged pink. But even with the dark circles under his eyes, his grin was triumphant. Diefenbaker barked and forgot his manners completely, jumping joyously against his missing pack-mate.

Fraser abandoned his work, leaving the leather and polish at the table, and strode quickly across the length of the small cabin. Ray met him just inside the door, and they embraced fiercely. Ray kissed him eagerly, lips biting and sucking with a passion that Fraser returned twice over. Interspersed with his kisses he was mumbling "Knew it... _couldn't_ leave... best dreams, _best_ dreams... forever..." and Fraser rejoiced in the sound of his voice, alive and vibrant, and encouraging his soul to sing in harmony.


End file.
